


Thicker Than Water

by noodlerdoodler



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Diego Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Diego Hargreeves has ADHD, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Diego Hargreeves-centric, Gen, Good Parent Grace Hargreeves, Hurt Diego Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Momma's Boy Diego Hargreeves, Mother-Son Relationship, Needles, Phobias, Pre-Canon, Protective Klaus Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Stitches, Stuttering Diego Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlerdoodler/pseuds/noodlerdoodler
Summary: As silly as it was, he’d been scared of needles ever since he was a kid, (those damn tattoos), and the idea of getting stitches made him wonder if he was going to puke again. His mom seemed to sense he was worried and reached down to squeeze his arm reassuringly. It wasn’t enough. Even seeing a needle had been enough to make in sweat in the past, flinching whenever he watched Klaus shoot up, and he’d gone out of his way to avoid them as much as possible.The last time Diego had gotten stitches, after a nasty head injury, he’d passed out cold at the sight of the needle. When he’d woken up a few hours later, they had been completed and he was discharged from the hospital. Every time he looked in the mirror since, the slit in his eyebrow reminded him that he was a big coward. No wonder he was stuck as Number Two.“Is th-th-that really n-n-ne-ne-nece-s-s-ssary?” He stammered, pleading.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Grace Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 8
Kudos: 218





	Thicker Than Water

A crackle over the radio caught his attention and caused Diego to stop halfway through his sixth set of push-ups, his arms supporting his bodyweight as he listened. Something about a bank robbery, nothing major for him, and the place was just a few blocks away; he could make it there in a few minutes. Completing his final push-up, Diego got to his feet quickly and towelled off his neck, grabbing a few knives he’d been sharpening. In just a matter of minutes, he was out the door and racing through the night, ducking around street-lamps to remain covert. 

The police weren’t even on the scene yet but alarms were blaring, a few citizens gathered around inquisitively to see what was going on. Somebody had obviously called 911 but Diego was faster, (something he liked to pride himself on). The security was already compromised so Diego had no qualms about sprinting towards one of the lower level windows and leaping through the glass, making sure to keep his head down. He rolled on his arm easily, having curled his body into a ball to minimise the damage, and onto his feet so he could literally hit the ground running. 

Immediately, he clocked the guys, who were your typical wannabe-criminals in ski masks and dark clothing. He took out the lookout in one swift move- ironically, he didn’t see Diego coming- as he tossed a knife around the corner and twisted the trajectory so it got the guy in the throat. Choking sounds confirmed he had hit his target perfectly and the lookout crumpled. Sliding easily on the marble floor, Diego rounded the corner and took out the next guy without even sparing him a glance. As he darted downstairs, he retrieved his knife from the man that was bleeding heavily under his ski mask. Serves the fucker right. 

“Looking for somebody to spot you some cash?” Diego asked, walking easily into the vault to find the rest of the group scrambling for whatever money they could get. 

Rapid shots were fired at him. At least two of guys were armed and were shooting round after round at him that Diego ducked and dived with ease, somersaulting across the vault out of the way, Diego was well practiced when it came to dodging any kind of weapons, thanks to his beloved father’s rigorous training schedules. Not to mention that his ability made it difficult for any kind of metal to do much damage. He could direct bullets away from him without giving it a second thought, although he’d always chosen to keep that particular ability to himself. 

The nearest guy swung at him with his right hook but Diego ducked under it, catching the guy’s arm and kicking him hard in the crotch. He twisted the arm behind his back and pushed him down onto the ground, his instincts still sharp as ever. Another guy came at him but Diego pinned him against the wall with his knives, piercing the shoulders of his black sweater and holding him there. At the same time, a third guy tried to take advantage of him being distracted and managed to get a few hits in. Diego hit the floor but was immediately back on his feet.

“Who is this guy?” The fourth one demanded, obviously the ringleader.

Tasting metal in his mouth, Diego spat blood onto the marble floor and kicked the third guy’s feet out from under him, sticking a knife in his thigh for good measure. As he advanced on the ringleader, he drew a knife in each hand and wielded them easily, tossing one in the air and catching it again. When he ran across them now and then, his siblings asked why he did it: they didn't concern themselves with meagre petty crime and couldn’t understand why he spent his evenings prowling the streets for perps. Part of it was because he felt it was his duty, (his duty to help and protect people), and part of it was just because of the rush. 

It was a better rush than the heroin his brother couldn’t live without and Diego kept chasing that high, night after night. A satisfying thump echoed through the room as he took out the ringleader, before collecting his knives and slipping discretely away from the scene into the night. Vigilante justice wasn’t awfully popular with the local police force- and vice versa. 

“Amateurs…” Diego muttered to himself, turning one of his knives over in his hand as he walked. 

Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to 'settle down' (as Allison had advised him to do) and quit all the vigilante stuff, hold down a regular job. Live a normal life now that he left the Academy. But a nine-to-five desk job? That definitely wasn’t him. Diego was way too wired for that kind of work, much too impulsive and struggled to concentrate for long periods of time. He’d suspected ADHD since he was old enough to know what it was. Diego would never be able to work behind a desk or in an office, clocking in for the same hours everyday, while he could be out stopping criminals and getting the rush of adrenaline from fighting. No, he was best where he was. Keeping the city and the innocent people who lived here safe from dangers large and small, like a low-tech Batman. 

Although, speaking of jobs, he had to get back as soon as possible to get the floors mopped. He had a tendency to put it off until late at night, knowing he would regret it when he was tired from his reps, but then would get so involved in it that he would waste long hours making sure the place was pristine. Everything Diego did, he did it thoroughly and that extended to mopping. 

Only a few blocks away from home, Diego was suddenly caught unaware when a large weight crashed down onto his back. Immediately, he was reminded of the story of Atlas, (which he’d had to learn in the original Greek, of course), and how he had to hold up the weight of the sky. He was sent sprawling onto the sidewalk, a dull pain rippling through his body. Somebody, Diego realised quickly, had jumped him. 

“What the fuck-“ He muttered, managing to wriggle free of whoever had pinned him down. 

As he scrambled to get up, a neat kick got him in the ribs and he groaned, using the momentum to roll away from them. He whipped his favourite knife out of its holder and was able to sink it into his attacker’s arm as they swung towards him. A fist connected with his jaw and sent him reeling backwards but he steeled himself to stay on his feet. Sure, the surprise had given them an advantage at first but adrenaline burst through Diego’s veins and he dodged their next hit. 

His attacker- who he couldn’t see well due to their dark clothes, the dim light, and the speed at which both of them were grappling- ducked his hit and charged at him, tackling him around the waist. Twisting around, Diego was able to use the attacker’s weight against them as they both tumbled to the ground and he ended up on top, getting a few good strikes in. In response, the attacker grabbed his shirt and used it to pull himself up, head-butting Diego hard in the chest. Diego growled, trying to strike back with his fists, but his wrists were grabbed and held tightly. 

Suddenly, the world flipped upside down and he soared through the air, landing hard on his back. He realised that his attacker had grabbed his arms and tossed him in a full 180 over his head, (meaning they were strong enough to throw Diego’s entire body like a rag-doll), so they were now back to back. First on his feet, Diego was able to kick his attacker hard in the face and keep them down for a few more minutes as he drew one of his knives. But he was too late; while they had been grappling on the ground, one his knives had been stolen without him realising it. 

Quick as a flash, his attacker was on their feet and disarmed him just like he had done the robber at the bank; by grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back, a kid’s trick, so that the knife slipped out of his grip. As always, his father's voice rang in his mind, reminding him that he was far too impulsive and thoughtless to be a decent fighter. His attacker was pressed up close against his back, breath hot on Diego’s neck, and the pressure of his hand drove a knife into Diego’s abdomen. 

A hiss of pain escaped between his teeth involuntarily as he ripped it out, “Shit.” 

He squirmed free of their grip, wrestling his arm free, and managed to knock them back. They stumbled a little but charged back at him, causing Diego to dive out of the way as if he were playing soccer (not that he’d ever played soccer, since it was Allison’s thing). Before he could move, he heard sneakers pounding furiously down the road and a yelp of surprise from the attacker. Looking up, Diego was stunned to see his saviour was-

“Klaus? What are you doing? Get out of here!” He yelled, urgently. 

His well-meaning brother had leapt on top of the attacker, wrapping his legs and arms around him tightly. Exactly like they had done when they were kids and they would take turns being carried around on Luther’s shoulders, not that Diego would ever give his brother the satisfaction. No matter how much the attacker flailed, Klaus clung on and refused to let go. He managed to hold the stranger still enough for Diego to get a few hits in, laughing joyfully about “teamwork makes the dreamwork, Di!”, before the attacker managed to loosen Klaus’s grip on them and sent him flying through the air. Years of training forgotten, he landed on his back a few feet away and cried out as he hit the ground. 

In an instant, Diego had reached his side and dropped to his knees to inspect him. Klaus winced a little but started giggling about something, obviously not in any serious pain. He was high as hell too but there wasn’t time to chastise him right now. Letting out a sigh of relief, Diego turned back to the fight and was shocked yet again; in that short burst of time, the mysterious attacker had already vanished from sight. 

As aforementioned, Diego was never one to leave a job half-done and everything he did was done throughly. He jogged around the perimeter, hoping he’d catch sight of whoever it was as they escaped. For jumping him, for nearly hurting his brother, Diego wanted to hunt them down and finish them off. But there was nobody in sight. Turning on his heel, he made a frustrated noise and returned to where Klaus was still slumped on the ground.

Diego glowered at his brother, “What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” 

“No ‘thank you’?” Klaus joked, sitting up and stretching as if he’d just woken up from a luxurious nap, “No ‘oh, thank you so much, Klaus, for saving my ass. I owe you some waffles’. What?” He glanced at the empty space next to him and chastised it, “No, not the freezer kind.” 

Drawing in a long breath, Diego begrudgingly thanked him and grabbed him by the hand to pull him to his feet. Always unsteady on his feet, Klaus stumbled into him and a sharp pain shot through Diego’s torso, like ice racing through his veins. Right, right, his attacker had managed to jam a knife into his abdomen, he’d nearly forgotten. Putting his hand to his side to check the damage, he found that it was sticky and wet with blood.

“Oh, shit!” Klaus covered his mouth with his hands, muffling a nervous laugh, “How quickly the stabber becomes the stabbee.” 

“He jumped me, not the other way around,” Diego grumbled, pressing down on the wound roughly to try and stop the bleeding, “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

“I get to camp out at yours tonight? Oh, goody!” Klaus clapped his hands enthusiastically, bouncing on his toes, “I knew it was a good idea to sleep in that dumpster. Suck it, Ben!”

Unsurprisingly, he was off his tits, which was pretty standard for Klaus and had been since they were teenagers. He had started rolling blunts in his bedroom and siphoning from Dad’s liquor cabinet when he was just thirteen and since then, he just hadn’t stopped stopped. Diego used to be sympathetic but had gradually grown more irritated about the whole affair; no matter how often he put Klaus through rehab, comforted his brother through bad comedowns, and put him up when he had nowhere else to go, Klaus always fell back into his old habits. He didn’t seem to care that Diego had invested so much time and effort into helping him. He didn’t seem to care full stop. 

Still, Diego was content to clap his brother on the back, offer him a grimace, and let him traipse after him. Of all their siblings, Klaus was the only one that he was happy to deal with now and then, so it was lucky they were the only ones who had never left the city. Well, except Vanya. But she didn’t really count- she’d never been one of them and since that book, exposing all fo their family secrets… Diego would be happy to never see her again. 

“I continue to be impressed by your powers of interior design,” Klaus said, flopping onto the desk chair as soon as they entered the boiler room, “The exposed brick combined with the secondhand furniture really brings out a certain…” He waved his hands around as if he was physically searching for the word, “ _Je ne sais quoi_.”

“Just be grateful I’m willing to put up with you,” Diego told him, wryly, and he started peeling his spandex off to get a good look at the wound. 

“Diego, I know you love me but I don’t think we’ve quite reached this stage in our relationship-“

Swiping a knife, he tossed it across the room so that it narrowly missed Klaus’s head and hit the wall behind him. His brother gasped, pretending to be offended, and throws a hand against his forehead dramatically like a maiden in distress. Klaus was a big lover of the dramatic and making lewd jokes but honestly- as kids, they’d had shared a bathtub until they were six. 

It stung to peel the fabric away from the wound, which was soaked with blood, and Diego let out a small gasp of pain. He blinked hard and saw stars spinning behind his eyes, probably from the blood loss. It was fine, he’d just get it patched up quickly and then call it a day. No doubt it would sting like a bitch for a few days as it healed but he’d be back in action soon enough. Slowly, so he didn’t make it worse, he got out his medical supplies and sat down on the bed. 

“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” Klaus was mumbling to himself, digging around in his coat pocket for something or other. He didn’t seem particularly interested in what Diego was doing, which was a relief. He didn’t need an overeager Klaus hanging over him, asking plenty of questions, as he gently cleaned his wound with a cloth. It was tender to his touch, making him grit his teeth. 

Once it was cleaned, he covered it with a patch of gauze and made sure to apply gentle pressure onto the wound. It was still oozing blood, which he hoped would slow to a stop soon, as he taped the dressing into place and let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. Hobbling to his chest of drawers, he picked out a shirt and some jeans, (despite what many people thought, he didn’t exclusively wear black spandex), in the hopes they’d be a little easier on the wound. Klaus made a big show of covering his face with his hands, complaining about his innocence.

“You never had any innocence,” Diego rolled his eyes, shuffling past his brother.

“Hey, where are you going?” Klaus said, his eyebrows knitting together, “You’re not going out like that, are you? I won’t save you this time, I’ve done my heroic act for the day.” 

He gave his brother a look, “I was _handling_ it. I’ve gotta clean up the place before I can crash because, unlike you, I actually have a job. I don’t survive off pawning crap I stole from Dad.”

“Hey, that’s- you don't- no, you’re right, he should lie down. Diego,” Klaus swung up from the chair dramatically, hands on his hips, “I can’t believe I’m doing you two solids here but I’m gonna mop up the place for you.”

Solids? Diego housed him every few weeks for free and in return, his brother had nearly gotten himself killed in the middle of a fight. But, well, it didn’t seem like the right time to argue the point, especially since he knew Klaus would never listen to reason. He just ignored him and took another step towards the doorway, only for Klaus to duck around him and throw his arms up. While Diego insisted he was more than capable of mopping the floor, it was only a cut for god’s sake, Klaus (and whoever he kept mumbling to under his breath) wouldn’t hear it. Trying to get round in only resulted in Klaus smacking him away and accidentally hitting his sore spot. Diego reeled away, cursing. 

“Shit, Diego, I’m so sorry!” Klaus gasped, trying to touch his shoulder.

He shrugged off his touch, “You wanna mop the floor? Go ahead, knock yourself out.” 

Grumbling to himself, Diego shuffled back to his bed with his hand pressed against the shooting pain pulsing through his abdomen. The bed groaned under his weight as he collapsed onto it and laid there on his back, once again seeing stars. Klaus, bless his heart, seemed genuinely apologetic and insisted on tucking a blanket around him. Never one to be babied, Diego reluctantly let him plump his pillows and rescue his childhood stuffed animal, from where it was hidden under the bed, to sit next to him in bed. He drew the line at a bedtime story though. 

"Some light reading?" Klaus teased, picking up the copy of _Extra-Ordinary: My Life As Number Seven_ that Diego had tossed under his bed a few weeks back. He'd given his sister the benefit of the doubt when he picked it up, interested to see Dad's name dragged through the mud. Instead, he'd been so disgusted at her laying out his secrets for everyone to see that he'd ended up ripping large chunks of pages out and cramming it under his bed, out of sight. Klaus flipped through it, idly, and kicked it back beneath the bed.

Then, Klaus shook out a clear plastic bag from his pocket and tipped a few pills into the palm of his hand, swallowing them dry with a wince. He went to work mopping the floor in the next room and although Diego couldn’t see him, he could hear his brother humming to himself and occasionally muttering something under his breath. He’d fully intended to stay awake for a while longer, antsy about potentially being jumped again, in his sleep this time, but found his eyelids drooping after just a few minutes. The last thing he remembered was Klaus whistling a merry tune before he drifted off into a restless, hazy sleep. 

In his dream, he was back at the Academy with the others but they weren’t children this time around. They were all adults, donning their old uniforms, and Diego was waiting on an uncomfortably small plastic chair. On either side of him, Allison and Klaus were waiting for something too. Straining his neck, he saw that Luther was sitting in a chair while a tattoo artist loomed over him. He didn’t seem to be in any pain and when the tattoo was done, he leapt to his feet to show off the umbrella inscribed on his forearm. But wait- they already had those tattoos-

“Number Two, let’s see if you can follow your brother’s example,” Dad told him, already looking irritated. It as if Diego was pissing him off just by sitting there.

Swallowing the urge to vomit right there, Diego got to his feet and walked over to the chair. Glancing back, he saw that his siblings looking just as annoyed with him for taking so long. The tattoo artist had pointy teeth, like a shark, and grinned at him. He ripped up Diego’s sweater and shirt, exposing his abdomen. He prepared the needle in seconds, leaning in. 

“I thought we were getting them on our arms?” Diego demanded, fear twisting his intestines into knots, “What are you doing? You did it on Luther’s arm!” 

“Oh dear,” Reginald Hargreeves was standing over him in the tattoo artist’s place now, still holding the needle ready, “It seems that Number Two is too much of a coward to go through with it.”

He called the others over, no doubt to laugh at him, and Diego was too scared to protest in case he stuttered. His father hated it when he stuttered. As he started trying to break free, the cold of the needle bracing his stomach, Dad instructed his siblings to keep him still and obediently, they pinned him down. Even Vanya was there, he realised, and she smiled at him:

“This is going to be a great sequel! Who knew Number Two was so pathetic?”

A stabbing pain shot through his entire body as the needle pierced his skin. Above him, he could hear his siblings laughing and joking as they pushed him down against the chair. He couldn’t help screaming out desperately in pain as his Dad worked on the tattoo, which made Klaus giggle and Luther mock him for being a crybaby. Number One didn’t make a sound, as his father reminded him, and then it was over and Dad walked away. When Diego looked down, he didn’t see an umbrella adorning his stomach. Instead, the word “FAILURE” glared back at him.

Suddenly, he woke up and shot up in bed, sweating. 

It had been a long time since he had a nightmare and instantly, he realised that something was wrong. His body was cold and clammy, pain still radiating from his midsection. Even though he felt chilly, sweat was rolling off him and he was tangled in the sheets from where he’d been tossing and turning during his sleep. Wiping his forehead, he pushed back the blanket and lifted his shirt to study his abdomen. No tattoo there, that was for sure, but peeking under the dressing showed that the skin around his wound had grown red and angry. Infection. Shit. 

“‘Iego?” A voice from beside his bed mumbled and Diego tensed automatically, which only sent another wave of pain rolling over him. Then, he remembered that it was just Klaus. His brother had stayed the night after tucking him into bed and must’ve camped out beside his bed with his coat draped over him. Now, propping himself up on his elbow, Klaus was looking up at him with concern plastered across his face, “You don’t look so hot.”

Shakily, Diego inhaled and pushed his shirt back down over the offending injury, “Just a graze giving me trouble. Go back to sleep, Klaus.” 

Klaus had never been one to follow orders, (which had been the bane of Luther’s life when they were children), and it showed now as, instead of rolling over to go back to sleep, he got to his feet and insisted Diego budge up. Then, he laid down next to him and brushed his hand over Diego’s forehead to check if he was running a fever: worry flashed in Klaus’s eyes. At his demand, Diego shifted from his sitting position and flopped back down on the bed. 

“Remember when we were little?” Diego said, abruptly, thinking of his dream, “And Hargreeves tattooed all of us?”

“That old bastard. Takes all the fun out of getting some ink when your creepy dad makes you do it. He got his kicks in the weirdest ways,” Klaus giggled, holding up his arm to study the umbrella, “But I’m the fucked-up one.”

“Dad was a monster,” Diego lifted his arm and pressed it against Klaus’s, looking at their identical marks. When Klaus had his umbrella done, he’d cried the whole way through and continued to do so afterwards, cradling his arm. That’s why it surprised Diego when his brother had wandered back into his life with several more tattoos, seemingly fine with the pain now. Maybe it had toughened them up being treated like adults as kids- but that didn’t mean it was right. Kids weren’t meant to be tough, they were meant to happy. 

When they’d gotten the tattoos, Klaus wasn’t the only one who had cried; Allison had sobbed and Ben had whimpered. Diego hadn’t cried, too stubborn to shed a single tear, but had rushed to his mom for comfort the second it was over. Everyone else liked to tease him for being a momma’s boy back then and he guessed it was still true. He was closer with Grace than any of his siblings. He even had an embroidery she’d done for him framed on his wall. 

One of the reasons he’d never moved away was because he wanted to be near her. 

Turning his head to look at him, Klaus said: “Remember when we were kids and you used to let me sleep in your bed when I had nightmares?” 

He remembered all too well, waking up to find his brother trembling in the doorway with his arms wrapped around himself protectively. Blearily, Diego would mumble “nightmare again?” and Klaus would nod at him, shutting the door behind him. Just like they were now, Diego would make space in his bed and his brother would climb in next to him, still shaking like a leaf. Not unlike a corpse himself, Klaus was always cold with dark circles under his eyes. He liked to curl up in Diego’s bed, less scared than when he was alone, and if the ghosts in his head got too much, he would squeeze Diego’s hand to wake him up. Diego would talk to him until he fell asleep again. 

“Yeah,” He nodded, thinking of it fondly, “Did you-“

Then, a wave of pain shot through his side and he clamoured for the trashcan near his bed urgently. Klaus shoved it under his nose just in time for Diego to be violently sick. 

In the end, they ended up bundling into a cab and heading across the city to their childhood home. It had taken a lot of convincing before Diego had conceded but, according to Klaus, Reginald Hargreeves was out of the country on a business trip. He’d been home a few days ago to smuggle out possessions to pawn and had spoken with Pogo about it. So, a blanket had been wrapped around Diego’s shoulders and they had waved down a cab. 

Being back in the house was strange, even if it was only for a few hours, but it was as empty as Klaus had promised. He darted off in search of Mom, while Diego shuffled to the infirmary- _what kind of home has an infirmary? Who expects their kids to be critically injured?_ He thought- and hoisted himself onto the hospital bed. Gazing at the white walls, he wondered how long it had been since any of them had been in here. He must’ve been pretty out of it because he suddenly found himself horizontal, with no memory of lying down, and voices talking over him, with no memory of Klaus ever returning. 

Mom must’ve noticed he was awake because she smiled down at him, stroking his forehead comfortingly, “It’s so good to see you again, Diego.” 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Klaus was lighting a cigarette. Pretty ballsy, considering smoking wasn’t allowed in the house and Dad would no doubt hear about it. 

“Just peachy,” Mom told him, “Why don’t you go ahead and get me a bowl of hot soapy water, dear? I’ll stay with your brother,” Once Klaus had vanished from sight, she continued stroking his forehead, “You didn’t clean your cut well enough, silly. A few stitches, some antibiotics, and you’ll be all better. Plenty of bedrest too, you hear me?” 

_Stitches?_ Diego froze. 

As silly as it was, he’d been scared of needles ever since he was a kid, (those damn tattoos), and the idea of getting stitches made him wonder if he was going to puke again. His mom seemed to sense he was worried and reached down to squeeze his arm reassuringly. It wasn’t enough. Even seeing a needle had been enough to make in sweat in the past, flinching whenever he watched Klaus shoot up, and he’d gone out of his way to avoid them as much as possible. 

The last time Diego had gotten stitches, after a nasty head injury, he’d passed out cold at the sight of the needle. When he’d woken up a few hours later, they had been completed and he was discharged from the hospital. Every time he looked in the mirror since, the slit in his eyebrow reminded him that he was a big coward. No wonder he was stuck as Number Two. 

“Is th-th-that really n-n-ne-ne-nece-s-s-ssary?” He stammered, pleading.

Klaus returned with the water, chattering under his breath as he always did, and put it down on the bedside table. Mom pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and dampened a cloth in the water, humming the same song as when she cross-stitched. Thinking about that made Diego feel uneasy, for some reason. He lifted his head to watch as she carefully lifted his shirt up to expose his stomach and removed his hasty dressing with ease. It made him screw up his face.  
The wound is tender as ever and Grace’s gentle dabbing makes him flinch every time, as she cleans the infected wound thoroughly. 

Even though it’s painful, something about being with his mom eases it a little and makes him feel more comfortable. They’ve always been close, ever since he was four and she had started taking care of them. Not only had she helped him through his stutter, she’d never made him feel stupid about it or about anything he did. She never chastised him for crying or compared him to Luther, two things his father had loved to do. 

“I love you, Mom,” He told her, as she finished cleaning the wound.

Grace smiled fondly, “Why, I love you too, Diego.”

“I want in on the love-fest too,” Klaus whined, flouncing over and throwing an arm around their mom. She ruffled his unruly hair affectionately and reminded him how glad she was to see him again- how she wished he’d visit more. He just frowned. Grace was programmed to think the world of their father, so she couldn’t comprehend that he was the one who driven all of them away from their home. 

Once Klaus released her from his grip, Mom got to work sterilising a needle. Just the sight of it was enough to make Diego blanche and turn his head away, trying to keep the content of his stomach calm. He could feel his heart throbbing in his chest, his body getting ready to leap up and run. Grace hummed as she threaded the needle with ease, turning back to him- only to find that Diego had pushed himself up and was frantically shuffling as far away as he could get. He nearly fell off the bed as he scrambled away from the needle. Instinctively, he slammed one hand over his abdomen and whimpered at the red hot pain. 

“Oh, Diego,” Grace sighed, “Now I have to clean it again.”

He was willing to do this all day if it meant that needle stayed away from him. 

“I d-d-d-do-don’t w-wa-want s-s-s-st-st-st-sti-stit-stiches,” Diego waved her away, finding it harder to get his words out as he got more stressed, “L-l-look I’m f-fi-fine. So, I’ll j-jus-jus-just be g-go-going n-now.” 

It takes a lot of coaxing from Grace and (needle enthusiast) Klaus to encourage him just to lie back down on the bed and let her clean the wound again. She was ever so gentle with him. On the other hand, his brother was recounting his long history with needles, his hands clasped under his chin and a happy look on his face. Right now, Diego is just glad that of all the siblings that could be here, it’s the junkie who probably won’t remember it later. Once the wound is free of any germs, his mom picked up the needle again and slowly moved closer to him.

“Hey, hey, Diego,” Klaus took his hand and gripped it tightly, “Just like when we were little, right? You always held my hand when I got scared. Hey, do you remember- you probably don’t- you used to check under my bed for monsters. I always thought there were spooky ghosties hiding under there!” 

Uneasily, he managed to crack a smile, “You were scared of the dark too, you had a secret nightlight that Dad didn’t know about.”

His brother shrugged at him, letting out a wheezy laugh, and mumbles something else about ghosts. Although he was determined not to look, Diego can feel his mother lifting the skin of the wound and threading the needle (shudder) through. Just thinking about it caused the world to tilt dizzyingly to one side, as if he’s on a carousel, and he squeezed Klaus’s hand tightly. Like when they were little and Klaus needed him to comfort him. Instantly, his brother started a rambling story about his latest antics and just the sound of his voice was reassuring. 

There had never been much stability in Diego’s life. He had never met his birth parents, since he was adopted within a few days of his birth, and had been passed around nannies for the first few years of his life. Of course, even though he had adopted them all, Reginald Hargreeves wanted little to do with his children right from the start- he saw them as experiments, that was all. He was brash, impulsive, and acted without thinking right from the beginning, which had made his initial relationships with his siblings very shaky. He was just too wild for them. 

"Remember when we used to sneak out and eat donuts until we puked?" Klaus reminisced. 

Thinking about it, Diego had never felt a real bond with anyone until Grace had come along. She would read to him, coach him on his speech, play with him, cook him food, and she had even given him a name, Diego, instead of a number. She didn’t care that he stuttered or found it hard to focus on his lessons or struggled to get on with the others. Growing up, he’d started to get along better with his siblings but had only really been close with Klaus and Ben (before he died). He always clashed with Luther, too fiery to accept his cold commands, and Allison had always sided with him on everything. 

Vanya… don’t start.

It made sense that he’d never jumped ship and moved to another state, like Allison, though he’d thought about it… the two members of his family he liked most were here. 

“Last one!” Grace singsonged, bringing him back into reality. 

As she finished up, he glanced over at Klaus and thought about how it felt to have his brother’s cold hand wrapped around his own clammy one. Reassuring- no, safe. Absentmindedly, Klaus grinned dopily at him and made an “okay” gesture with his GOODBYE hand. Diego nodded, silently.

“All done,” Mom announced, planting a kiss on his forehead for good measure, “Well done, Diego, you did it! You were so brave. Wasn’t he, Klaus?” 

His brother agreed, finally releasing his grip on his hand and Diego felt like he’d lost something again. Certainly, his good relationship with Klaus wouldn’t last for long, as it usually only carried on for a few days. Then, Klaus would do something stupid like steal from him or overdose or generally piss him off and they’d fall out again: Diego would demand to know why he was throwing his life away and then shut him out, deeming him a hopeless case. Their newly-rebuilt friendship would crumble again and they’d stop speaking.

But now, right now, Diego was pretty glad to have him at his side.


End file.
